


Kindling

by shadeblue



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:27:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeblue/pseuds/shadeblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts out as a necessary protection, a shielding spell. A stop-gap measure to give them time. They could do it because it was about being close, about trust. It would be easy.<br/>So this is how it starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kindling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [holidaysinunitedstates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holidaysinunitedstates/gifts).



Kindling

This is how it begins.

It begins in a circle of his friends, because that is how many things in his life begin. It begins in the dark, because that is the right place for them. For this.

It begins at Lydia’s house in her large upstairs room, because her parents are rarely home and she has a hardwood floor they can paint on.

“That’s water-based paint, yes?” Lydia asks for the fifth time.

Stiles rolls his eyes and doesn’t look up from where he’s finishing a large circle and all the proper symbols on the far edge of the room. He doesn’t respond either. Lydia read the bottle herself, and the chemical composition of the paint is clearly not her real concern.

                “Yes, Lydia,” Allison says gently, touching her own paintbrush to Scott’s arm. Between the four of them, it looks as though they are about to attend perhaps the strangest rave ever. A very cult-oriented rave.

                “Okay, your turn,” Stiles says, standing up and jabbing his paintbrush at Lydia.

                Lydia wrinkles her nose. “Why can’t I be the paint-free one?”

                Stiles sighs. “Because I’m the ‘spark,’ Lyds. I have to be mostly sparky, and I guess even water-based paint nullifies my sparkle.”

Lydia narrows her eyes and purses her lips, preparing some kind of perfectly cutting remark that would haunt his dreams, and just as she opens her mouth Allison steps between them. “Come on Lydia, let’s just do this. We don’t have a lot of time.”

The room quiets. Stiles walks the perimeter of the room and checks the symbols. They only really have one shot at this, before whatever the evil magic time bomb the witches put in place detonates all over the place. The details of that detonation he isn’t completely sure on, but it made Deaton’s face go completely blank and Derek’s jaw lock before they left to try and find the coven, so. Just the fact that Deaton and Derek were working together on the fix scared the hell out of Stiles.

So he had gone into research mode, and Lydia had gone into research mode, and between the two of them and too much Latin and Scott and Allison side-eyeing each other over coffees, they had found a solution. Or, something like a solution. A spell that would protect them, and their loved ones. It could give them a big protective bubble of magic that would stop the spell long enough for them to find the witches and put them down.

If it worked.

It was convoluted, and as far as they could tell—and get Deaton to hint at—it required at least four to five people who were willing to “donate” their energy to the spell. The spell would then weave a magical net-bubble and toss it over…everything. Something like that.

Lydia pouts, but takes off her sweater and stretches out her arms for Allison to paint. They all wore the bare essentials, tank tops and shorts, so the symbols could cover as much of their skin as possible. Allison finishes daubing the last bit of paint on Lydia’s cheekbone and steps back.

They all look at Stiles. He swallows, and looks down at the book. It was unnecessary, he has it pretty much memorized by now. One long-fingered hand gestures at the floor. “Okay, so Scott stands over there, in the middle of the triangle-looking ones. And Allison, you’re over here…and then Lydia, you go on the last corner.”

Stiles puts the book down on a shiny foreign-made coffee table that probably cost as much as his Jeep, new. “And then I stand in the middle.”

“Center of attention,” Allison mutters.

Scott laughs a little and Stiles rolls his eyes.  “Take it up with Deaton. He’s the one who said I’m some kind of ‘spark.’”

“Okay.” Lydia’s voice snaps through the tension. “Let’s do it already.”

The room quiets, heavy with the reality of what they were about to undertake. Stiles breathes first. “Right. So, remember, it’s about trust, yeah? We have to trust each other, we have to—”

“Stiles,” Scott says gently. The confident note in his voice that he’d developed after his wolf powers had sunk in weighs down the letters of Stiles’ name, weighs down his heart and settles him.

“Okay.” Stiles drops his hands and pulls his shoulders back. When he begins speaking, his voice doesn’t shake. The ancient words roll over his lips and fill up the room. One by one, Allison, Lydia and Scott join in. Their voices layered on top of each other, smoothing out the edges and becoming one flow of harmony, caged up in magic.

The light began at Stiles’ feet, spiraling outward until all the paint was glowing faintly. Different colored lights scatter back and forth beneath their feet, sparking and fading. Stiles finishes his words, and one by one the others fell silent. The glow doesn’t fade, but it doesn’t do anything….protective, either.

“So, uh…” Stiles looks at his friends.

“Is that it?” Lydia asks. She doesn’t sound judgmental, for the first time since they began, just concerned.

“No, it…it’s supposed to like, make a net, or a bubble, or…something bigger.” Stiles pushes one hand through his hair. “Something is supposed to _happen._ ”

Allison and Scott share a look. “Alright, so, what do we do?” Allison says gently.

“I don’t know,” Stiles says. He bites his lip, hard, trying to remember all the pages and the little details. “It said…it said that it’s about trust, and…I don’t know, a bond of some kind. But it has to be all of us, all in it.”

Scott tilts his head toward the floor. “Well, something is working. Maybe we aren’t doing enough? Like, trusting enough?”

Allison tries not to laugh. It’s so sweet, it’s so Scott, but every one in this room is here because there are no barriers between them. No matter what happens, they will always have each other. Trust. She raises one hand to cover her mouth but drops it before she smears the paint.

Lydia clears her throat. “Actually…”

Everyone turns to her.

“ _Lydia—_ ” Allison and Stiles start.

The redhead raises a hand. “I didn’t think it would make a difference. It seemed like a…technicality.”

“A technicality!” Stiles raises his hands and drops them. The glow fades slightly. He looks around and lowers his voice, guiltily. “Magic is pretty much entirely technicalities, Lydia.”

Lydia sighs sharply and looks at the ceiling. “Well, fine. It said there have to be _no barriers_ between us. None.”

“Yeah, that’s why it’s us,” Scott says.  “Trust. No barriers.”

One perfectly manicured toe taps the warm wood grain. It was somehow just as intimidating as when that toe was encased in thousand-dollar hot pink suede.  Stiles forces himself to look away from the toe, but that just led him up Lydia’s bare calf. Focus, Stilinski.

“Not just personal barriers, Scott. All barriers.”

No one responded. Stiles frowned at Lydia’s knee. Allison purses her lips in a way that usually meant Scott would spend the next three days sending Stiles whiney text messages. The runes pulse gently beneath them, their light steady and faintly reassuring. They hadn’t totally messed it up yet.

“All barriers…like…” Stiles trails off. If it was just him, he didn’t want to say the words.

“Physical barriers.” Lydia gives the words the same emphasis as ‘grande cappuccino.’ Stiles would believe the casual attitude if she wasn’t still staring at the ceiling like it was changing colors.

                “So we have to…” Scott looks around, eyes wide.

                Lydia tsks under her breath and sticks out her hands to either side. No one moves for a few seconds, and finally Allison smiles a little and takes Lydia’s hand. At her nod, Scott does the same. The lights pulse immediately, a small swirl of sparks circle Stiles. His friends gasp.

                “What?” Stiles looks around, watching the lights change color. “What’s happening?”

                Scott has a kind of dopey smile on his face. “It’s just—it—”

                Lydia grins, real and fierce. “It’s working. Start again, Stiles.”

                Everyone seems to be feeling something he isn’t, but then, what else is new? This is more important than feeling left out, so Stiles pushes it down with old words. There are a lot of them, so it isn’t too hard. The runes are glowing brighter now, and there seem to be three colors of sparks moving along the lines. One for each of his friends, who are all smiling like loons suddenly, and then just…Stiles. In the middle, chanting. Wasn’t he supposed to be the spark?

                Everyone picked up the words, faster this time, with more intention. Stiles could feel it around him, burning in the air. Magic. He lifts one hand, but he doesn’t feel anything. It’s right _there_. Allison starts in on her last words, but still nothing. The huntress trails off, voice lilting over the words, low and excited.

                The air snaps, just once, and the runes briefly fill the room with light. It suffuses his friends’ skin, their faces and open mouths, making them burn with light. Stiles watches as it slides off of him like cold rain on glass, so close but unreachable. He feels nothing.

                The light fades again. The runes glow gently.

                “Oh…” Allison says softly. “Oh.”

                “Yeah,” says Scott, laughing a little.

                Lydia smirks, gentle at the edges, almost just a smile.

                “Yeah,” Stiles mutters. “Oh.”

                Lydia shakes her head, like tossing off a trance. Everyone keeps holding hands. “I still don’t think it worked. Almost, but not quite.”

                “Really?” Scott sounds surprised. “It felt like it was doing…something, for sure.”

                Stiles thinks Allison might be blushing. Lydia rolls her eyes. “Yes, and then it went away.” Pale brown eyes pin Stiles where he stands. “We need a spark.”

                Lydia takes a step toward Stiles, bare toes avoiding the painted lines. Allison and Scott stumble forward with her, and he is enclosed. It should feel safe, it does feel safe, and yet he cannot breathe.

                “Um, what—what are you guys doing?” Stiles can’t figure out who to look at. Lydia is _right there_ , and it feels a little less intense to look down at her instead of up at Scott, or behind him at Allison, so he does.

                “You’re the spark,” Lydia says simply, and puts her hand on his arm.

                Stiles always figured when Lydia touched him, skin on skin, he would feel something, sparks or fireworks or maybe just hormones, but all at once it’s—

                _Light_. Light and static, under his skin, lighting up his blood and making the air in his lungs feel like ice and fire, all at once. He can’t breathe, except he _is_ , it’s just that he’s breathing in the taste of Lydia’s skin, and the strength of Scott’s hands, and the assured movement of Allison’s wrists when she touches his shoulders. They’re all touching him now, him and each other, and Stiles is just—he’s—

                _He’s the spark._

They don’t need to words anymore; the words are in them, between them, beyond them.  Lydia nods—she has always been the smartest, Stiles can feel it in the strands of her hair and see it in her cheekbones—she knows just what to do. Scott is the one to say it, a question he knows the answer to.

“More?”

_Yes._

The whole room is made of light. It glows with different colors, sparking when their skin touches a new area, or a painted rune. Stiles thinks it would be Lydia to step closer first, but as always between them, it’s Scott. Scott leans forward and rests one large hand on Stiles chest. He can’t believe how heavy Scott’s hand is, how he never noticed it before. It makes him ever more aware of Lydia’s fingers at his side, brushing the bottom of his ribs. Should her fingers be that hot through his t-shirt? Should Scott’s?

It begins between Scott and Allison. They understand _more_ , they understand too much, they have enough to give away, to add. Scott leans over Stiles’ shoulder and puts his mouth on Allison’s. Allison is pressed up against his back now, and if it weren’t for the sparks singing inside him everywhere Allison molded against him, he’d be kind of embarrassed about having imagined what this might feel like.

It is nothing to Lydia. Lydia is smiling again, Stiles has seen that smile when she is about to dominate a substitute teacher, and he wants to warn Scott. But he needs to know. He needs his blood to keep burning. He needs the light to burn brighter.

So he turns to let Lydia lean past him. He feels his tongue going a little numb when she touches Allison’s graceful jaw. Allison turns without hesitation, a conditioned response to a known touch. Stiles ends up with his back pressed now against Scott, and it’s so much. Not too much, almost. Lydia stands on her toes. It seems only considerate to support her, to place his hand at the small of her back. The thin strip of bare skin burns his thumb. Just as it burns when Lydia’s lips touch Allison’s. They are perfect. They are steel and satin. He does not know which is which.

Steel and satin just as Scott is earth, solid against him but soft in his warmth, giving in the way his fingers line up with each one of Stiles’ ribs. They have always known each other. That’s why Scott knows he can move his hand, that he can learn the feel of Stiles’ hipbone and the top of his thigh. Stiles can see Lydia’s tongue, and the way she touches Allison tells him: they have known each other too. He lets his hand run up the line of Lydia’s back. The first strands of her hair feel like fire. The skin between her shoulder blades is more than he could have known.

Scott kisses his neck. Stiles can’t breathe. The pulse says almost enough, and he, for the first time, knows it before her. Stiles pulls forward, staying as close to Scott as possible, and touches his mouth to Lydia’s neck. For a moment she stills, surprised, but then she turns her head, easy as the wind, and he finds her mouth.

So much. All at once.

Lydia tastes like the final days of fall, honey shot through with ice. Her lips feel like the velvet and satin of queens. Scott’s hand drops between his legs, ripping free the button of his jeans. Allison slips one hand between them and he feels the archer’s strong wrist when her fingertips turn to nails on Scott’s skin. There’s fierceness in Allison, in her sure sharp movements, in the way she deftly flips open Scott’s fly. Stiles wraps his arm around Lydia, pulling her tight between his surprisingly broad shoulders and Allison’s ribs. The girls fit their curves together perfectly. Scott reaches out to finish the circle, almost touching fingers with Stiles as he pulls Allison closer. She is adaptive, mobile, and she presses her mouth to his neck, teeth gentle in a way that would bruise anyone else. He looks at her, eyes bleeding gold and brown. But Scott is loyal to a fault, his love is focused, and he gives his mouth to Stiles, his hands to Stiles, leaving small marks on the pale skin. His almost-brother’s skin is more fragile than Allison’s, and Scott must find the perfect way to bite. He learns. Stiles has always been there, so he learns.

Stiles can’t breathe into Lydia’s mouth but he tries. Every breath makes the glow burn brighter, their fire turn blue with the intensity of the real. She doesn’t give up either, touching her small deft tongue to his lips, his teeth, his tongue. Allison turns to her girl, her _best friend_ , letting her tongue touch the soft spot at the corner of Stiles jaw, the one Scott hasn’t marked, and they smile to each other. They don’t have to talk, they perfected communication during Chemistry class, only eyes and mouths and hands.

So she knows just when to take Stiles’ wrist, and give him a guide. Lydia’s mouth forms the most perfect moue when Stiles’ fingers part her legs. His mouth falls opens, and everything turns to the side. He cannot think for a moment past the heat of her. And then Scott is there again, his fingers long and rough, heavy on his skin. It is a perfect moment. They _shine._

Scott reaches for Allison, familiar without looking. Inside her he finds Lydia, their fingers touching and Allison breathes out sharply. Her head falls forward and her dark hair pours over Stiles like rain. Allison’s breath finds the edge of his mouth, and somehow that is it.

                The runes are all colors and no colors. They blaze under the skin, filling up the air and destroying any space left between them. There’s a sharp moment where they are _aware_ , empty, clear with purpose and protection, but then it’s gone and the light stings and it’s just—

                _Oh_.

                Sparks.

They never knew pleasure like this. Stiles feels his knees give a little, but Scott is a hard line against his back, Allison his blurred edge at his side. Lydia is lava burning his chest and his hips and the fronts of his thighs. He didn’t know, he didn’t _know_.

They are all in this moment together, yet somehow they are all with him. He is their spark. They came to him, they want _him._ Because Stiles was first, and he’s burning at the middle of them all, shaking apart and falling back together. Allison next, because she takes what she wants and she wants _this_ , and Scott follows her because he can’t not, and Lydia does because she really can’t, either.

So each after the other they slip apart. They hold each other together.

They…fall to the floor.

It’s almost laughable, if they weren’t so exhausted and preoccupied with catching each other. Scott’s reflexes do most of the work on that particular point, so no one gets injured. After that everyone is too busy breathing to laugh. Lydia notices first.

“The paint is gone,” she draws a lazy finger across the wood floor.

Stiles opens one eye. Scotts arm lies over his chest, and it’s true. All the paint is gone. “It must be…” he tries to wave a hand, but it’s trapped beneath Lydia. “doing the protect-y thing.”

“Good,” Scott rumbles.

Allison makes a small noise, either assent or content.

The haze seems to be clearing a bit from the air, and Stiles is pulled between the looseness in his bones and the urgent nagging in his mind. Lydia links her fingers in his. Stiles gives in and embraces the strange comfort of the wooden floor.

There is a long silence while they put themselves back together. No one speaks, but they never stop touching either. They would always be touching, in the future, small gestures and touches that let them know each other. They all breathe in sync.

Quiet. Even with the air settling back between them, their hearts beat together. The runes have gone under their skin, tying them to each other. It’s good. They don’t have to talk about it.

At least not until heavy boots echo up the stairs and Scott hisses Derek’s name an instant before they hear his voice—“ _what did you do?”—_ in the hallway and they really know it worked.

Everyone scrambles for their clothes.

This is how it begins.  

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the WORST at author notes, so I'll keep it short and sweet. My gift for Telepathe, which I absolutely loved doing. I've never written or much considered these four all together, and I love trying to find different ways for them to connect to each other. 
> 
> I hope you like it, doll! <3
> 
> I am also genuinely sorry for the messed up formatting halfway through, I could NOT figure out how to fix it.


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